


Stay Awake

by StripedScribe



Series: Febuwhump2021 [19]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Branding, Chains, Hallucinations, Injury, M/M, Sleep Deprivation, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-19
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:41:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29556474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StripedScribe/pseuds/StripedScribe
Summary: Kidnapped and held for torture. Deprived of sleep in the same room, unable to reach other, Frank and Matt slip into insanity.FebuWhump Day 19 [Sleep Deprivation]
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: Febuwhump2021 [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2136723
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	Stay Awake

It was one of the worst forms of torture. Letting them eat, drink, talk to each other, but refusing to let them sleep. Shackled in chains, to far away to touch each other, noise and light every time they tried to drift off. The advantage, or disadvantage, of them not caring for their identity, meant they’d left Red’s cowl on. That he couldn’t see his face, not really, the silhouette of the fabric hiding his eyes, his emotions.

It was stupid, they’d taken Red down and his hesitation in watching that was enough for them to snipe him off his perch as well. Waking up seemingly unharmed, in a too-white room, bright spotlights in the ceiling. A mirror, a window he’d assumed, running the length of one wall, him and Red chained at either side. It was comfortable, as far as being captured went. Handcuffs on wrists, but enough movement to be able to eat, to stretch. A chain running into the wall, enough length to be able to stand up, to walk around his half of the room.

They couldn’t reach each other. God knows they’d tried, ending up so close but still metres apart. A door in the centre of the room, which neither of them could reach, it had never opened.

A flap, either side of the room, where food and drink was deposited at what felt like random times of the day. Just enough to keep them satisfied, just enough to stave off the pangs of hunger.

They had toilets for gods sake, and a sink each. A limited screen of privacy.

But they weren’t allowed to sleep. Any sign of drifting off, and the lights would flash, on and off, on and off. A horn would blare, an awful booming sound, or the sound of an alarm.

As the hours wore into what felt like days, the measures used to keep them awake got harsher. Sprinklers in the ceiling dousing them with cold water, the heating turned right down, leaving them shivering on the floor with no way to dry off.

Or the heat turned up, leaving them sweating and clamouring to try and take off layers, restricted by their chains.

They tried to keep each other awake, knowing that would be safer, kinder than whatever measures their captors would take. It was a losing battle, heads nodding forward into sleep for a split second, before the next punishment.

He knew what sleep deprivation could do to someone. Knew that already they were getting angrier and snappier with each other, more irritable. More confused, Red kept trying to take his mask off, and he couldn’t let that happen, knew how important it was to him to have that identity a secret. They’d kept it so far.

And then he started seeing things and Matt’s identity was the least of his worries. People he’d killed, leering through the mirror. Red, sleeping, being punished and dying. Sleeping and being punished, dying over and over again, just a corpse chained in front of him. The rain pouring down from above turning into blood and spilling across the floor. Drowning them both, Red’s head held down with some unseen forced, the glint of Death’s scythe waiting for them.

A storm, the flashing lights and alarms, there was a storm coming, they needed to take shelter. They’d die out here, in the cold. But for all he shouted at Red he wouldn’t answer, would only sit there rocking, mumbling things under his breath. Stuck in his own hell, unreactive to the fire raging around them. Flames licking up the walls, the heat of a sun against his back, thin metal shackles on his wrists burning a brand into his skin. A prisoner of hell, in the dark and heat of the underworld.

A haze of smoke, of steam, a fog of tears he could barely see Red through, see his slumped figure on the ground, the ramblings of a man gone mad. Sobbing in the rain, refusing to answer Frank’s words, screaming at him to go away, to leave him alone.

Mad like him, like this world they lived in. Where city streets turned into hell, turned into a forest, turned into the heat of a desert. Walls building and destroying themselves with a thought, overseen by some higher power.

He could only laugh when the door-that-never-opened did, some of the steam disappearing, showing a figure stood there. Figures, more people who could enter this room only to die, to become like him, like Red.

Monsters that used his name, hushed words of “It’s okay Frank, you’re getting out of here.” Loosening the brands around his wrist, pulling him upright, an arm over their shoulders. Red. They were leaving Red behind, no they couldn’t, he’d die in the smoke.

“We’ve got him as well, you’re both fine.” He couldn’t see him anymore, just smoke, a featureless face pulling him along, a voice he barely recognised. Strong like Red, almost carrying him, his feet dragging along the floor in stumbling steps, refusing to relax. To face whatever came after the fire and the hell.

A plea for him to rest, but he couldn’t, he couldn’t sleep. They’d be punished, they’d punish both of them for sleeping, for giving in to the pull of unconsciousness.

He couldn’t. He had to stay awake, stay present, protect Red.

The storm had stopped, the shackles he’d imagined falling from his wrists. Red was pulling him along, speaking in a strange voice, but they’d survived, they would be free. “You can rest Frank, I’ve got you.”

He could, with Red. In whatever hell they were caught in.


End file.
